I Know It's Real
by Amethyst
Email:Amethystluv@msn.com
Rating: G
THIS IS A FINISHED FIC
Disclaimer: Don't own Roswell
Summary: Short story. Someone reflects on their life and asks themselves 'when is it too late to proclaim your love?'
Category: Other, future fic
Author's notes: I always thought this story would never come to pass on t.v. but I was always curious what they felt towards each other. Feedback, please!
I loved him. I'm not afraid to say it anymore. When I was younger I was terrified to speak my true feeling aloud; too many repercussions; too many people hurt. It got to the point when I was young that it didn't matter. I spent every waking (and dreaming) moment with the thought of him in my arms, but I pretended to move on. I concentrated on school, my family.. I even got a boyfriend. He was the opposite of my affection; maybe that's why we started dating. You would never see my true love bother with things like sports. That just wasn't his style. He was too busy ignoring me. No, that's not fair. Maybe if I told him he was the reason I got out of bed each morning, that I never bought an outfit before thinking if he'd like it. Maybe if I had stayed after graduation, instead of just running. I thought I was letting him and his girlfriend (yes, he found someone to make him happy, and no, that someone was not me). I just wanted him to be happy to not have any obstacles on my behalf.
I ran away and got together with the first man who said those three words I had longed to hear from a man since childhood. In truth, he wasn't the first of my boyfriends, but I think I loved him the least. When I looked into his eyes I never saw anything. Even when you look at a stranger you can at least pretend to get a glimpse of their soul, but with this boyfriend I never did. So here I am, standing in Roswell's largest cemetery, crying. Crying in front of the grave of the only man I'll ever love. I talk to him. I know it sounds crazy, but I do. I talk to him about my loveless existence, and the sadness that never leaves my side. I tell him about my clean house, and that every night I cry myself to sleep.
I've been coming here every night for the last two months. I have to come at night. His wife visits him in the day. I can't face her; I can't face her questions. I watched her once from behind a tree, and saw her cry. We had been somewhat close when I was in high school; I was even invited to their wedding a few years ago, but from behind that tree my anger rose. I was jealous. Why did she get the right to wear his ring? Why didn't he choose me? I could have made him happy. I would have. But instead I just stood at the tree. Part of me wanted to run to her yelling 'I love him. I've always loved him." But I stayed silent, and awaited night. I guess I'm not ready to say it to people yet, but there is one person who needs to hear it. I slowly kneel to the gravestone and take a deep breath
"It's Isabel. I love you, Jim."